


Point of Origin

by teaandjumpers



Category: Sherlock (TV), Stargate SG-1
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Crossover, F/M, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-22
Updated: 2012-06-22
Packaged: 2017-11-08 07:24:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/440657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teaandjumpers/pseuds/teaandjumpers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for this prompt on the kinkmeme: John is the leader of an SG team and Sherlock is the team's scientist.</p><p>
  <i>John thought back to his first time through the gate and tried to remember what he felt. He bit his lip and looked into Holmes’ eyes. They were captivating and the same color as the pool of blue that was lilting beside them. It would be terribly easy to get lost in either.<i></i></i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Point of Origin

General Mitchell prayed this would be a good fit. As head of the United Kingdom’s Stargate Initiative, it had fallen to him to place Sherlock Holmes under an SG team that would take him. The task had been inherited from General Carter who headed the United States’ Stargate Program. Sam had sent Sherlock over in 302 with a memo that read: We have too many scientists. I believe his knowledge on Ancient and alien technology will be invaluable to you. Mitchell translated it as, “We have enough smartasses here. Good luck with him.”

Mitchell, like Sam, had a great deal of affection for Sherlock. It was hard not to. The progeny of Vala and Daniel, two of the most fiercely intellectual people Mitchell knew, and the fastest talkers, Sherlock grew up in the base and had been correcting the world’s top scientists on their physics equations since he was sixteen. He fondly remembered an instance when Sherlock had pointed out a fallacy in one of McKay’s equations during a briefing. Mitchell had never seen the Canadian’s face turn so red so quickly, not even when McKay accidently ate one of Mitchell’s grandmother’s lemon cookies.

Truth be told, it would have been immensely disappointing if Sherlock was anything short of witty, inquisitive, and a galaxy-worth of trouble, though Mitchell didn’t doubt that Vala and Daniel would have loved him any less.

Mitchell shook his head. That was a trip down memory lane he couldn’t afford to go down. Not as the newly appointed commander of the UK’s stargate. Still, his heart panged at the thought of Daniel and Vala missing out there in space. They’d gone against dragons together, Goa’ulds, and the universe’s version of the Spanish Inquisition, but it was a simple reconnaissance mission on an Al’kesh that got the better of them.

He shook his head and blinked away the tears that threatened to fall and looked down at the file in front of him.

Captain John Watson, it read.

Two years in, Captain Watson was fairly green to the Stargate Initiative, but he was levelheaded, and as a doctor and a soldier, he had a very coveted skill set. Mitchell believed he’d make an excellent leader of SG-7.

Lieutenant Irene Adler, a doctor of linguistics and fluent in over thirteen alien languages, seemed a natural fit. She and Sherlock had a history together and worked well with one another.

Mitchell believed that Watson, along with Adler, would be able to handle Sherlock, or, at the very least, manage to dig him out of any trouble he got himself into.

He believed that. He did. And if he prayed for the first time in twenty-six years, at least his grandmother wasn’t around to call him a hypocrite for it.

 

#

 

“Dial it up,” said John, from the control room that overlooked the gate.

He had always wanted to say that. Being under another person’s command for the few years he was in the Initiative, it was always his commanding officer that got to say those three words. Now it was his turn.

The lieutenant at the console gave John a curt nod and proceeded to tap the gate address into the keyboard. The gate ring began to spin and the clangorous sound of heavy metal shifting filled the base.

P3X-279 was their destination. The MALP they had sent ahead of them reported that the planet was habitable with no signs of life-forms. But that was just in the thirty-mile radius that the MALP covered. John secretly hoped that they would find life anyway. It wouldn’t be an adventure without running into a few aliens.

He peered down through the glass separating the control room from the gate. His team was already there and the scientist, Holmes was his name, was looking up at him. Holmes looked impatient and he repeatedly tapped his wrist with his index finger. He had learned that it was best not to keep this one waiting unless you wanted a hailstorm of histrionics thrown at you.

John was annoyed and a little embarrassed to note that the other two were dressed in their black uniforms and not the green that he was wearing. He wondered if there was a memo he had missed. John sighed and went to the embarkation room to join his team. They had met with each other for two weeks, running simulations and in that time John became aware of how cuttingly sharp they both were. He felt a little overwhelmed by all of their talk of superconductors and ancient dialects, but he had faith in his own abilities. John was good at what he did and he had always been able to depend on his team. He hoped the same would be true with this one.

The gate activated with a loud kawoosh and a blue glow settled over the room, giving the drab concrete a temporary splash of color. The room was quiet save for the sound of the fluctuating waves of the wormhole puddle.

John carried his gun in front of him and approached the ramp. “It’s a hell of a thing, isn’t it?” asked John.

Lieutenant Adler hummed in response. Holmes said nothing and slowly approached the event horizon. The ripples reflected onto his face, giving him an other-worldly glow.

“Sherlock’s a gate-virgin,” said Adler. “Never been through.”

“How is that possible?” asked John. “Your mother was an alien.” Or so he had read in Holmes’ file.

“What does it feel like?” asked Holmes, raising a finger to the blue substance and gently tapping it. It swelled under his touch and evened out again when he removed it.

“I know the science behind it,” he continued. “The body is converted into sub-atomic particles and transmitted through the wormhole to the receiving gate where it is reassembled back into its original form.” His gaze rose upwards to the crown of the gate and back down to the bottom, just a few inches away from the tips of his shoes, which, John was amused to note, weren’t standard issue, but a fancy, leather ordeal. “But what does it feel like?” he asked. A quiet broke over the room and nothing could be heard but the gentle lapping of the gate puddle.

“Like the best orgasm you’ve never had,” said Irene suddenly, giving Holmes a kiss on the cheek and John a sly wink before she jumped backwards through the gate.

Holmes rolled his eyes and turned his imploring gaze onto John. The man looked impossibly young, despite his thirty-five years.

John thought back to his first time through the gate and tried to remember what he felt. He bit his lip and looked into Holmes’ eyes. They were captivating and the same color as the pool of blue that was lilting beside them. It would be terribly easy to get lost in either.

“It’s like riding a bike for the first time,” said John. “Without your training wheels. It’s terrifying, at first, because it’s new and it feels like nothing’s holding you down, but then, when you really start going, you just know who you are, just for a moment, and it’s brilliant.”

Holmes’ mouth slightly parted and he tilted his head as if lost in the image and feeling John had just described. The spell snapped though when Holmes shifted his gaze back to the wormhole and said in a quiet voice, “I never had a bike.”

John thought that was quite possibly the single saddest thing he had ever heard, and before he could ask the younger man about it, Holmes took a determined stride forward and was sucked into the vortex.

John muttered a “balls” under his breath that he hoped none of the soldiers guarding the gate heard and followed his team.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> There’s a reason why Sherlock took on different surname. I’ll get into it in the next part as well as addressing Mycroft’s role in this. I gave the UK’s Stargate Program a fancier name just because I think they’d like to differentiate themselves from their American counterpart. I’m working on an HP crossover that’s taking a lot of time, so this fic will be slow-coming. That said, I hope you enjoy this first part. Also, they will be getting a fourth member.


End file.
